


Wildflower

by xCake



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-07-11 05:04:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15965288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xCake/pseuds/xCake
Summary: There was something wrong with your head.Surely, there must have been. He was yourbrother.The fact that you were were never related by blood was a small comfort - not that it made the idea any less sickening to anyone but you.[ Loki x Reader ]





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY NOT SORRY
> 
> I am a sick, sick person. Please enjoy it anyway. :^)

Eight hundred years ago, you were born. The third child of Odin and Frigga, you were their first and only daughter. Your two brothers each had about two hundred years on you and had just celebrated their coming of age when you stole the spotlight. News of their maturity had circulated first, but the birth of Asgard’s Princess trumped it all. 

Your birth was unexpected to say the least. Frigga believed herself to have gone through the change, but the swelling of her belly was unmistakable. She kept it hidden well, so as not to draw attention away from her sons’ celebration – but you had different plans, and chose to be born the following day. 

Both Thor and Loki were entirely unprepared for another sibling, and a sister, no less. The disparity in age was also a worrisome factor, for they were now considered to be mature adults and you were just a baby. There was no opportunity to grow up together, no struggle through adolescence together, no typical way to bond as siblings do. But you were sweet and innocent beyond compare, and without so much as a second thought they had vowed to protect you at all costs. 

 

 

Your first memory, at about three years old, was of the forest. The sun shone brightly upon the trees, and the brightly-coloured wildflowers in a large clearing up ahead. The horse upon which you rode was a beautiful, shimmering brown, and your fingers entangled within its silky mane. Strong, tanned arms encircled your small body from behind and held onto both you and the reigns. It was comforting.

The memory became a bit hazy in places. What you recalled next was a picnic amongst the wildflowers. There were two horses, actually, both tied to a nearby tree – the brown one you'd arrived upon, and a black one, too. A large blanket was spread out on the ground and you sat upon it, playing with some grapes and other various fruits. Loki sat near you sipping on a glass of plum-coloured drink, and Thor lay down for some shut-eye as you all basked in the sunlight. You felt warm. You felt safe.

A glass bottle filled with the same plum-coloured drink lay nearby, and when you began to pull it over to you, Loki gently smiled down at you and took it away.

“Not just yet, little one.”

Of course, you grumbled a bit at that. You didn’t like being told ‘no’. 

“Oh dear,” Loki mused in amusement, and Thor sat up on one elbow to look over at you both and find out why you were whining. Loki said with a laugh, “I do believe we’ve spoiled our darling sister.”

With a yawn, Thor got to his feet. “Well, we’ll just have to do something about that, then, won’t we?”

He picked you up with ease. You yelped a little and almost started to cry, before he tossed you way high up onto his shoulders. Then, even though he had just been dozing just moments prior, he ran around the field like your own personal steed and almost instantly, your troubles were forgotten. You just laughed and laughed, your sour mood forgotten. Riding on his shoulders soon became a regular thing with which Thor would spoil you.

From such a high vantage point, you were able to reach some apples in a nearby tree and upon your request Thor brought you over to it.  Your small hands could only hold one at a time, so as you picked them, you carefully handed them to Thor. After you’d picked five – one for each of you and the horses – Thor asked you, “Shall we share these with Loki?”  

“Yes!” you said excitedly, giggling some more as he made his way back over to the blanket.

After Thor placed you back down upon the ground, you scampered over to Loki. 

“What do you say?” Thor called from behind you, reminding you to apologise for your behaviour. 

“I’m sorry, Loki,” you said, offering him an apple with both hands.

Loki smiled and patted your head.

“Good girl.” Then he accepted your peace offering with a gentle, “Thank you.”

After that, the memory became a bit more hazy. You vaguely remembered eating your own apple and then feeding the horses theirs. You loved horses, but their mouths were so big and scary. Thor teased you and said that they would eat you, too, because you looked like a giant apple. That made you cry.

It wasn’t until the sun began to set that your outing finally came to a close. You’d ridden with Thor on the way here, and now you were nestled in front of Loki as he held the reigns to his own horse. Before you knew it, however, you had fallen asleep, only to rouse as Loki carried you up to your chambers.

“I’m a big apple,” you mumbled drowsily.  “Don’t let Sadferry eat me. Tell him I’m yucky.”

Loki couldn’t help but stifle his laughter for fear of waking you further. “Worry not, sweet girl. Svadilfari only likes little apples. You’re too big for him to eat.”

“’kay.”

And then you fell back asleep. You dreamt of rolling around as a giant apple, one so big that it destroyed Asgard. Because he was to blame, Thor was the one to comfort you for the next five months until the giant apple dream finally subsided. Unfortunately, your fears of being eaten by a horse did not subside, even when you got older.

 

 

“I am _not_ getting on,” you huffed, crossing your arms. You were thirteen, now, full of rebellion and righteous indignation.

In front of you stood a small spotted horse, grey and white in colour. She was taller than you, but not by much. She was also very cute, but you would not be swayed.

You would later name her Epona.

“You’re the daughter of Odin,” Thor called out to you, already on his horse, barely able to hold back his laughter. “Riding is in your blood!”

“This is _your_ fault,” you hissed. “You gave me a complex!”

At that, Thor couldn’t quell his laughter any longer. You stomped your foot and pouted.

It was foggy how he managed to convince you to mount the horse, but what you could recall was that it was not without a lot of effort. Thor was a good brother, really; he had taken responsibility for your fear of horses, even if he teased you about it while doing so. It was likely because of his coaching that you became so good at riding.

 

 

Seventeen and you were indeed an expert rider, albeit a bit wary of every horse but your own. The clearing, only reachable upon horseback, had become a place of respite for you. You often came here with your brothers, and alone, when you needed some space to yourself. This was one of the latter times.

Epona was by your side. The flowers were not yet in bloom, as winter was just beginning to ebb into spring. Not that you had really noticed, however, as your vision was full of tears. For the first time, you’d had your heart broken. The palace was stifling, and you’d had to stifle your sobs as well until you could finally escape. Now that you were here, at dusk and alone, you could finally let it all out.

He was a jewellery merchant’s son, your age, kind and trustworthy. At least, that was what you’d believed until you found out that he was betrothed. His family’s wares – unique gilded jewellery – were on display in the shop, and upon her, his wife-to-be. An engraved necklace, one supposedly meant for you, was around her neck instead of yours and your heart had shattered to pieces. 

Tears streamed down your face as you stroked Epona’s mane. She nudged your face with her nose.

A quiet call of your name drew you out of your reverie and you looked over to see Loki upon Svadilfari, standing just metres from you. How you hadn’t heard his arrival, you weren’t sure, but you didn’t want to see him. You didn’t want to see anyone. You wanted to be left alone to nurse your broken heart. 

“Are you alright?” he asked you, his voice gentle. His dismount and continued approach were almost unnoticeable.

“Yes,” you said hoarsely. It wasn’t the first time you lied to him, but it was the first time it stung. 

“Sister.” He was closer, now, and when you looked up at him you found that his face was etched with worry. “Talk to me. Allow me to put your mind at ease.”

You were quiet for a few agonising moments before you finally willed yourself to ask, “Am I horrid, Loki?”

Loki’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“Am I terribly unpleasant to look upon? Why else, then, would I not have been his,” your voice cracked, “his first choice?”

Loki easily pulled you into his arms in an attempt to soothe and protect. It was at that point that the dam finally broke, and your tears came more strongly than before. While Loki and Thor constantly teased you and bullied you, as all brothers did, it rang true that you could also rely on them for comfort and understanding.

“Worry not, little one,” he murmured, his chin resting atop your head. “You are perfect. He will realise his mistake one day.”

The next few minutes were spent in near silence, save for the sound of your muffled sobs.

As your tears subsided, however, the familiar buzzing of a hornet’s nest settled behind your ears as you started to get angry. How _dare_ he turn you down! You were royalty!

You suddenly pulled away from Loki, your hands balled into fists and your eyes alight with anger.

Loki knew that look. Loki _hated_ that look. It meant trouble.

“I am Odin’s daughter, Princess of the Crown, and that— that— _peasant_ ,” you spat the word, “chose another over me? How _dare_ he!”

“Sister,” Loki warned.

“I want him to know this pain,” you bit out. “I want him to hurt just as I do. He will never again find work upon Asgard, not when I am—”

Your name was spoken once, sharply, and with it your angry tirade caught in your throat. You looked up at Loki in shock. He did not often raise his voice with you.

“That is not how a Princess should behave,” he scolded. “You will put an end to these childish demands at once.”

“But I—”

His eyes softened as he looked upon you. “You are angry, I know, but you must always remember your place.”

He was right, of course. You had not been raised to wish ill upon others. None of you had. 

Then Loki smirked and crossed his arms. “And that place is above him, sweet girl. So why not act the part?”

The thinly-veiled implication was that you treat that peasant like, well, a peasant. He was beneath you. You might treat him like he was worth less than the dirt under your boot.  

His suggestion caught you off-guard; you had always known Loki to have a darker side, but you rarely had the chance to see it firsthand. At last, you smiled. “You are quite the awful influence, you know.”

“Better this than the alternative. Thor would destroy him.”

“Then perhaps I shall go tell Thor,” you jested.

You were the daughter of Odin, all right, short temper and all. 

 

 

The day after your eighteenth birthday, you took your first steps onto the training grounds: not as a spectator, but a warrior. While neither you nor Loki had ever told Thor about your once broken heart, together you'd decided that you needed an outlet for your anger. Sparring proved to be just the thing, and being eighteen, it was about time that you learned the art of battle.

At first, you were terrible with a sword and even worse with a pair of daggers. Your older brothers offered several different weapons for you to try, but each one had come to a terrible conclusion. You either hurt yourself, accidentally stabbed one of them (especially Thor – he was the larger target), or injured some Einherjar nearby. It was clear that you were not suited for battle.

At least with bladed weapons.

Then Thor gave you a bow, and it was like magic. You excelled. It wasn’t months of training you required, no; you surpassed all expectations within just weeks of shooting your first arrow.

“Ten!” Thor shouted to you, and you turned to your left – the ten o’clock position – and fired at your target. Bullseye.

“Five!”

You turned to your right, at five o’clock behind you, and did the same. Another bullseye.

Then you did it for a third time, and a fourth, and your training continued for about twenty minutes more until you were out of breath and arrows.

“You did well,” Thor called out to you as he collected your arrows from the targets. You started to do the same, pulling them from the targets closer to you.

“Thank you, brother!” You were ecstatic; you’d finally found a weapon to suit you, and you were doing extremely well with it. Adrenaline seeped through your veins. “Your training is what has helped me come so far, I'm sure of it!”

Thor finished collecting the arrows on his side and came to meet you in the middle. “No, dear sister. It’s your hard work that has brought you here.”

You smiled in thanks.

Then he took the quiver from you and placed his arrows inside, before he gave your hair a good ruffle. “Shall we celebrate?”

“What are we celebrating?”

Thor grinned at you. “You've just received your certification.”

You just looked at him blankly. “Certification for what?”

“For battle.”

There was a long pause as you processed what he had just said: certification for battle. You could go to battle with your brothers, now, with your family, if you so chose. The thought scared you a little, for you did not feel ready – perhaps you never would – and yet you had just proven how lethal you were as an archer.

“I can come with you?”

Thor was so, so proud of you and it showed on his face when he responded, “Yes.”

At his confirmation, you began to jump up and down out of excitement, and then you hugged him tightly. You no longer had to sit on the sidelines. You could help protect Asgard. You could fight for your home.

 

 

That evening, you attended your first banquet as a warrior. You were not yet of age, of course, in fact you still wouldn’t be nearly two more centuries. Being of age only meant that you were mature enough to partake in politics, anyway, which was something you had no desire to do. Your family handled it all just fine already.

Even though you could not yet make decisions for the crown, you could certainly defend it – from your current age, age eighteen, you could go to battle, you could drink, and you could be merry.

And tonight, you were very merry.

The banquet began without a toast; that would come later. For now, you were being introduced to the fine alcoholic delicacies that awaited you. At last. You’d always wondered how wine would taste. Perhaps it was because you’d once been denied it so long ago.

In the same vein, it was almost ironic that Loki was the one pouring you a glass of it. When he handed it to you, eyes kind and full of pride at your accomplishment, you accepted it gladly. It was in that moment that Thor slung an arm carelessly around your shoulders, and you nearly spilled your drink.

“Thor!” you said in exasperation, holding the glass up high to prevent it from spilling.

His eyes lit up when he saw the glass in your hand. “Your first?”

“Yes,” you told him patiently. “And I’d very much like to have it now, thank you.”

At the testiness in your voice, Thor released you with a taunting grin. “You must drink it all at once, sister!”

“That is a terrible idea,” Loki interrupted. “Drink it slowly. We don’t know what your tolerance is like.”

You chewed your lip for a moment before you shrugged and raised it to your lips. “Would it not be better to find out sooner rather than later?”

Then you downed the glass, much to Loki’s chagrin, and Thor cheered you on along with the others surrounding your table. When you threw the emptied glass to the ground and demanded another, Loki just pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

 

After the banquet had been on for some time, Odin finally arrived to raise a toast. He said some very kind things which you could unfortunately not remember due to drink, but you were very flattered at the time. It was not often that your father praised you. One thing you could distinctly remember was that he was very proud of you.

 At that point, though, you were already beyond your limits. Having never had alcohol before, your tolerance was very low. You would have done well to heed Loki’s advice, but you were a warrior now and you had to prove yourself as one.

“Dear,” Frigga said quietly, placing a delicate hand upon your shoulder. “I think it may be time for you to retire for the evening.”

“But Mother,” you protested, “I’m having a wonderful time!”

“I know, sweetheart, but you’ve had a bit too much to drink.” At that, she shot pointed looks at both Thor and Loki for not having watched you more closely.

“Mother. ” Loki’s response to Frigga’s unspoken accusation was cordial, but there was no hiding his annoyance. “You _must_ know that Thor's encouragement is what has spurred her on.”

“Of course!” Thor responded proudly, throwing another empty glass down onto the floor. “How else will she learn to handle drink as we do?”

“Not by drowning in it,” Loki remarked.

“It doesn’t matter," Frigga said in exasperation. "One of you, take her to her chambers at once.”

“Mother, no!” you whined. You were older, now, but when you were displeased you still sounded like a spoiled child. “I want to stay!”

“Then you will stay,” Thor said merrily, pouring you another glass.

“Thor,” Frigga warned.

“It is her first banquet! I was much worse during mine.”

You hummed in agreement. You had heard the stories.

Frigga let out a defeated sigh. “Fine, but you are both responsible for her. Keep her safe.”

Thor raised his glass to this, and then handed you yours. You clinked them together – somewhat harder than intended – before you held out your glass to Loki to do the same. There was a pause as he hesitated, not wanting you to be ill from drink later; but when you beamed at him so brightly, he couldn’t help but give in and tap his glass against yours.  

 

 

Of course, you _were_ ill from drink later. Very ill. Your retching echoed through the halls, originating from the bathroom in your chambers. How you got back to them, you did not know, nor were you sure of the time. It must have been the morning after, now, as the sunlight was streaming through the curtains.

Another wave of nausea rippled through you and you heaved again.

You were never going to drink with Thor again. Why, oh why, had you taken his advice instead of that of your more responsible brother?

“Thor,” you groaned loudly, as if he could hear you, “I hate you so very much.”

And then Thor loudly appeared, as if he’d been summoned, with a glass of – something. It was a thick red drink and just looking at it made you want to hurl.

“You do not,” he teased. “Here. Drink.”

The smell of it did make you hurl.

“It isn’t _that_ bad. You aren't an infant.” His words were harsh, but his tone was in jest.

You bristled at the challenge. Ugh, fine. You’d chug it like every other drink you’d had in the last day. And so you did, and once it was fully down you nearly lost it again.

“What was that—that—” you stammered in between gags, “ _monstrosity?_ ”

“Hair of the dog!” Thor said cheerfully. At your puzzled, albeit green, face he clarified, “A Midgardian saying. More drink helps with the aftermath.” 

You groaned again. The last thing you needed was more alcohol.

After he rinsed out the glass, he filled it up again with water and again handed it to you. At your suspicious look, he raised his hands up in defence. “Water, dear sister. Nothing more.”

As you sipped on the cool liquid, your stomach finally did seem to settle a bit. You highly doubted that it was the first drink that helped, but maybe it did. You were new to drinking, after all, while Thor was a seasoned veteran.

“Thank you,” you told him finally. “Now help me up. I blame you for this.”

Laughing, Thor took your hand and pulled you to your feet. It wouldn’t be the last time he did so after you’d had too much to drink. 

  

 

The years passed and you grew older. Your archery skills became more and more refined, and you went to battle quite often upon most of the Nine Realms. While you were a very fierce warrior and you'd taken part in many battles, it was unusual that you had never been to one of the more prominent ones – Niflheim – until you were a few hundred years old.

By the time you had arrived, the battle was well underway. Your brothers were already here somewhere, doing Norns-know-what. You were well-used to their tactics, and even more so to fighting upon strange Realms, but this one felt different. _You_ felt different. Perhaps it was caused by the cool-hued sunlight, which made everything look almost ethereal; or maybe it was the strange, misty air you breathed.

“Princess,” said a warrior to your right, “This way.”

You nodded and followed, your bow in one hand and your quiver slung upon your shoulder.

Within moments, the soldier who had just spoken to you collapsed onto the ground in a motionless heap. You jumped behind the closest thing, an overturned table, as a knife whizzed past your head. Immediately, you jerked around to look at your enemy: a normal warrior. If you hadn't known better, you would have thought he was one of your own. You supposed you had been expecting an appearance akin to a demon, or something equally as horrible, from what you had heard of Niflheim.  It was connected to Hel, after all.

That may have been why you hesitated, because he looked so normal.  

“Get down!” came a sudden shout, and you dropped obediently. In between you and the enemy stood Loki, in his standard leather and plate - a familiar sight to be sure, but not here, not under these conditions. Perhaps it was because of the adrenaline, or maybe it was because he had saved you, but under the ethereal sunlight of Niflheim you thought Loki looked… beautiful. His long, dark hair framed his face in such a way you’d never noticed, and his pale skin almost seemed to glow; and, for the first time in your life, you realized how _different_ he was. His looks were a stark contrast to the golden locks and sunkissed skin that you and Thor seemed to share. 

The enemy hit the ground, but you did not notice. Instead, you were horrified by your thoughts. It must have shown on your face because Loki shot you a concerned look.  

“Are you injured?”  

“N-No,” you stammered.

“Good. Run,” he said sharply, taking hold of your hand to pull you along to safety. Your skin tingled under his touch.

You felt sick.  


	2. Two

Every battle encampment you’d attended was hectic. The one upon Niflheim was no different. Your forces were all jumbled together, with hundreds of small tents set up within a small area of land that you’d regained through recent triumphs.  There was never a moment of silence, especially during mealtimes. The distant chatter of your troops drifted through the canvas of the tent you shared with your brothers.

Asgardian custom dictated that royalty be provided finer accommodation, if only slight, to ensure that your status was known to your forces. In your own personal opinion, it was also because you, as royals, were superior.

The exterior was inconspicuous to prevent assassination, but the inside offered a small number of luxuries: a plush rug lined the floor as a means of warmth and comfort against the frozen ground, and decorative battle flags hung from the upper supports. A small dining table sat near the entrance. It was wooden, ordinary, and easily packed away for when the time came to relocate. This was where you took your meals together and strategized.

At the rear and atop the rug lay three sets of thick, downy blankets and even softer bedding. This was where you slept, with Thor to one side of you and Loki to the other. There was a fair amount of space in between each set, of course, which was where you kept your boots and weapons in the case of a midnight raid – but it wasn’t nearly enough for your liking, especially when you were forced to sleep in such close proximity to _him_. The arrangement afforded you no privacy, either; the only small semblance of it hid within a decorative screen in the corner, barely wide enough for you to change behind.

It never bothered you before, sharing such cramped quarters with your brothers amidst a siege. You had done it for centuries. Once upon a time it may have even been a comfort, but now you were suffocating.

Just as you had always done, the three of you discussed tomorrow’s battle tactics before supper. This was commonplace: upon your return from the day’s scrimmages, you washed up and then sat down to strategize. It was routine. It was normal. Nothing had changed – except, really, everything had. It had been a week since you first arrived upon Niflheim and you'd never felt worse. 

You found yourself not paying attention to the discussion. Loki was so handsome that you couldn’t focus on anything else.

He was saying something, some clever plan, but you didn’t hear any of it; your eyes were too fixated upon his mouth. You had never noticed until now that when he was lost in thought, he worried his lower lip in between his teeth and when he was frustrated, he licked his lips – most notably when Thor interrupted him with a bad idea.

He was attractive.

You were repulsive.

A call of your name from across the table drew your attention to Thor.

“What do you think?” he asked you. 

“That’s great,” you said absently.

“It’s great that their numbers have grown?”

Well, that served you right for not paying attention.

“I, uh…”

You looked helplessly at Loki, only to find that in his eyes danced amusement.

Oh. Oh _no_.

He knew.

He _knew._

You broke out into a cold sweat as he intervened, smooth as molasses: “When we defeat such a large number, it will crush their spirits.”

“Yes, they’ll—” you stumbled over your words, “They’ll be less likely to rebel.”

After a moment of consideration, Thor seemed to accept this answer. “Then that is what we must do.”  

 

 

After supper – during which you only ate a few bites and picked at the rest – you took a moment of reprieve to gaze at the stars. The sight did nothing to quell your anxiety, and as you stood there in silence you only grew more disgusted with yourself. Still, you managed to convince yourself that he didn’t know, no, he couldn’t; he must have just found it amusing that you were so caught off-guard. It wasn't like you to be so distracted. 

Then you heard the familiar sound of shuffling canvas, and you were alone no longer. You dared not look to see who it was, for you already knew.  

 “Sister.” The sound of Loki’s silken voice sent a shiver down your spine. You blamed it on the winter chill. “You’ve not been yourself today. Are you unwell?”

Oh, yes, you were quite unwell.

“I’m fine,” you responded automatically. “Perhaps a bit weary.”

He made a soft sound of acknowledgement. Silence reigned supreme, at least for a short while. The stars sparkled brightly, and you studied them like they were the most interesting thing you’d seen. Really, though, your heart was pounding fiercely within the confines of your chest and you so desperately needed a distraction. It did not work.

“Loki.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, “for your help earlier. I was caught up in my thoughts.” 

“I know.”

He always knew.

“I am here if you'd like to voice your troubles.” 

He always was.

It was unfortunate that you’d never be able to talk to him about it. You’d never be able to talk to _anyone_ about it.

A forced smile, one meant to reassure, came upon your lips as you finally chanced a look at him – and you immediately regretted it. His stunning green eyes met yours in an instant, and you felt your throat go dry. He had been watching you, studying you. Why?

“Thank you, brother,” your voice wavered slightly on the word, “but I am quite alright.”

You clearly weren’t, and in his eyes you saw concern, doubt – but he said nothing. For that, you were thankful.

Then a rowdy group of warriors walked past, drawing your attention away from him for the first time in days. After they had passed, you turned back to Loki, but he had left you alone with your thoughts.

 

 

You hadn’t had a restful night’s sleep in days, and that wouldn’t change tonight. The enclosed space was very dark, almost impossible to see, but Loki’s soft, steady breaths were unmistakable even through Thor’s loud snoring. You were too keenly aware of him now, too aware of yourself and your actions around him. Even worse were the incessant thoughts of him, shameful and endless. You desired to touch him, to feel him in ways you knew you shouldn’t. 

It was maddening.

It was nauseating.

But you couldn’t stop, no matter how hard you tried. He was slowly driving you mad.

 

 

Another week passed, and your sleep did not improve. You did fine in battle, so long as you weren’t around him. It was when he was near that you faltered and nearly got yourself killed. 

Thankfully, Niflheim offered plenty of places to fight, and you decided to use that fact to your advantage during one of your daily discussions.

“Would it not be best to have multiple battalions?” you proposed, pressing your finger to three different locations on a map to articulate your point. “We are fighting in three sectors, now, and yet we three remain here. We must take direct command of our outposts.” 

It was an uncommon approach, but not entirely unheard of.  There was a lot of ground to cover, and unless you split up you wouldn’t be able to overtake your enemies’ growing numbers. Although this was a partial truth; the other part of it was that you needed an excuse to keep away from Loki lest you reach Valhalla far too soon. It was a shame, for you had always enjoyed fighting by his side.

“Is that wise?” Thor questioned, uncertain. “Our forces will be weakened.” 

“If we do nothing, they will soon outnumber us.” Loki’s answer was straightforward.  “That is too great a risk to allow.”

You were thrilled that he had chosen your side, but also a little bit disappointed. Having the majority vote meant that your plan would go into effect. From tomorrow, you would not see him for weeks, possibly even months. You would not wake up near him or take your meals with him. You would not be there to secure his armour, nor would he be around to help you with yours. It was a small, intimate act that you enjoyed very much – almost as much as you liked to catch a glance of him as he disrobed. You’d miss that, too.

What you certainly would _not_ miss were these vile thoughts. Some time apart would allow you to clear your mind and regain some sense.  

Thor's excitement was evident when he said, laughing, “Then we must enjoy our last evening together!”

His merriment was not unwarranted. The three of you, and some of your warriors, feast and drank until the early hours of the morning. Wine and mead flowed freely, and you drank far more than anyone else. You drank to forget.


	3. Three

Slim fingers plucked the glass from your hand.

“It’s time for you to rest.”

Thor was busy chatting animatedly with some other warriors around the bonfire, and until this moment your glassy eyes had been trained upon the dancing flames. Now they were fixed in a heated glare upon the bane of your existence.

It was _that_ look. Loki hated it even now.

“You will return my drink at once.”

“No,” Loki responded with finality.

It would be anything but final by the time you were done with him.

“I will not repeat myself, Loki.” Your tone held a note of contempt. It was more meant for yourself, for you would much rather take it back by force. It would give you an excuse to touch him, to feel his body writhe under your fingertips. And if you did not win, if you could not overpower him, it meant that he would've had to touch you, too: a win-win scenario.

“Neither will I,” he told you, before he tossed the glass and its contents into the bonfire. It shattered loudly as the flames rose higher toward the sky.

Immediately, you made a strangled, angry noise and rose to your feet, clenching your fists so tightly that your knuckles turned white. He was picking a fight, now, you were sure of it – and it was working. Your nerves were already shot, and your patience, too. You were not in a good state of mind. It showed.

The chatter subsided as several sets of eyes focused upon you both. Loki stood there like nothing was out of the ordinary: so quiet, calm and collected, just as he always was. Your bristly demeanour was the opposite. In public, you were known to be cheerful and inspiring, especially upon the battlefield, for you rarely raised for voice for anything but a battle cry. At home, however, you were quite spoiled and prone to tantrums. You had never grown accustomed to being told ‘no’.

This was one of those times. It was unfortunate that you were not at home, for your warriors had rarely – if ever – seen you in such a state.

“Remember your place,” Loki mouthed to you.

Your racing heartbeat thumped in your ears as you willed yourself to calm down. You could not be seen to behave in such a way. But rationality failed you, rather, it infuriated you even more. If only you did not have to remember your place, if only you were not the daughter of Odin, Princess of Asgard, you could have easily acted upon your desires. Loki would not have been your brother, then. He would have – could have – been something more, and you’d have never known this turmoil.  

“First you steal from me,” you bit out, “And then you _command_ me. What next, brother? Would you see me flogged?”

You knew you weren’t being fair, or rational, but that side of you was no longer in control. Since your arrival upon Niflheim a few weeks ago, your life had been chaos and you knew not what to make of it – only that you were slowly going insane, you must have been, for why else would you feel this way? For weeks, you’d eaten little, and slept even less, and you were finally starting to break.

The whispers began.

Loki gave a quick glance around him before he focused upon you again. His hands came up in a show of surrender, perhaps to save face for the both of you, but you did not miss the irritation in his eyes. Without doubt, you would hear about this later.

When he spoke, his words were smooth and diplomatic, “I would never hurt you, darling girl. You are my flesh and blood.”

Inwardly, you began to crumble. The reminder stung. 

Your name was said, then, kindly, and Thor’s large hand came to rest upon your shoulder. _His_ presence, at least, was soothing – if only a little.

“Perhaps it would be best to direct this enthusiasm toward our enemies,” he said loudly and in jest, but you could hear the undertone of concern within his voice. Your audience laughed at his joke, and the sound helped to relieve some of your tension. “We’ve celebrated for hours. Now we must rest for the journey ahead.”

Murmurs of agreement sounded from around you, and slowly the crowd began to disperse.

The performance was over, but your dialogue had just begun.

After bidding goodnight to the warriors you encountered on the way, Thor led you into your shared tent, and Loki followed closely on your heels. As soon as the flaps were drawn, a shimmering light began to coat the walls and ceiling. Loki’s magic. This conversation was not meant for anyone but the three of you.

Within seconds, the barrier was complete.

“What the _Hel_ was that?” Loki hissed. “What were you _thinking_?”

You bristled instantly, but Thor came to your defence before you had the chance. “She is not well, brother, clearly. You know as well as I do that she hasn’t been since she arrived.”

 “I am standing right here!”

“Oh, we are well aware,” Loki responded sarcastically. “You were standing _there_ , too, as our forces watched you behave like a petulant child. How can you expect to command an outpost when—”

“At least they respect me,” you angrily interrupted. “That is more than you can say.”   

You immediately regretted your spiteful words, especially when you saw the hurt flash in his eyes. It disappeared as quickly as it came, but you knew that you had rubbed salt into an old wound. It was common knowledge that Loki was not favoured as much as you and Thor. Not by your people, who only respected him for his title, and certainly not by your father, as loathe as Odin would be to admit it. Of course, the latter part of that had only been noticed by a select few. As Odin’s clear favourite, Thor was not privy to the observation.

Nevertheless, it had been a very low blow. 

“Sister,” Thor said quietly, but that was all. Even he could not find the appropriate words to say.  

It was deplorable that your pride would not allow you to apologise. Worse still was that you found Loki so beautiful, so attractive, even in pain. You had angered him, hurt him - your sweet, kind, empathetic brother - and you got off on it.

When had you become so wretched?

For the first time, bile arose to match your sickening thoughts. There was a large stock pot upon a crate in a corner near the entrance, and you barely reached it in time before you heaved. The drinks you’d had, too many to count, were the only thing that came up. You’d barely eaten anything since you arrived upon Niflheim, including tonight at supper, and the effects were beginning to show. Your hands, grasping the sides of the pot tightly, felt as frail and shaky as they looked. You were sure your body was even worse off. In recent days your armour had begun to fit more loosely than it should have, and when you’d last looked in a mirror there had been appallingly dark circles under your eyes.

And even through you'd hurt him just moments prior, Loki still took care of you. He held your hair away from your face and gently stroked your back, whispering calm, sweet, soothing nothings to you until the nausea subsided. Thor fetched you some water, and then left the pair of you alone to forgive and forget. 

Throughout it all lingered an unspoken truth: you were not fit for battle, let alone command in this state. It was clear that your brothers knew it now, too, but the plans had already been laid in motion.

The show must go on.  


	4. Four

You were the first to wake.  

The camp was dead silent as you stepped outside for a breath of fresh, crisp morning air. There was a distinct lack of chirping birds, warriors taking morning meals, or, well, any other noise or movement at all. It was hazy today, and the rising sun – what little of it there already was – was concealed behind thick, heavy clouds, as if it would rain at any moment.

The weather looked as miserable as you felt.

Perhaps some exercise would raise your spirits. Your body was thoroughly fatigued, and your mind right along with it, but you were desperate to feel some iteration of normal.

No one stirred as you jogged through the encampment, not one warrior, not a single guard. Your steady pace was the same as always, but you tired too easily. By the time you’d made you way through the entire camp, about thirty minutes later, a sheen of sweat coated your body and your breathing was much more laboured than you would have liked.

What was once a cool winter morning had turned blazing hot in a flash. You still hadn’t acclimated to the strange atmosphere of Niflheim, and it showed.  

You weren’t quiet when you re-entered the tent. No, you even stumbled over some discarded metal tankard – probably Thor’s – and caused a ruckus. Under your breath you muttered a curse that would make the most masculine of men blush, before you picked it up, filled it with water, and downed it all in one go. Then you slammed it down on the table.

Normally you would have been more considerate, but you’d probably already woken up the entire camp, now.

Your undershirt, which you had worn to bed, came off just as easily as you’d put it on. The strip of cloth securing your bosom was still tight, not at risk of falling away, not that it particularly mattered - your brothers had seen it all at some point or another with all the time you’d spent together. What remained of your dignity lay in the secret hope of Loki catching you in a state of undress, or worse still, causing it. 

The skin-tight breeches you wore were made of a light cotton material, and you rolled the waistband dangerously low to allow a bit more of your skin to cool. It didn’t do much, for they already hung loosely upon your hips when upon your arrival they had been a snug fit. Now they threatened to fall. 

A familiar sound of rustling came from the rear of the tent, where the three of you slept. Someone was awake, and knowing your luck, it would be Loki. You didn’t bother to look over, instead trying to dispel a sudden wave of nausea. You’d strained yourself far too much after being so ill last night.  

A stack of papers lay nearby, likely the official plans for your divide. You used them to fan yourself, bracing yourself with your free hand upon the table. Your hair stuck to the back of your neck, but the breeze allowed some air to flow through. Unfortunately, it did nothing for your flushed face nor did it quell your queasy stomach. 

Loki’s typically smooth voice was a bit husky, rough with sleep. “It seems you’ve had quite the morning.”

What a surprise that your nausea dissipated almost instantly, replaced with something far worse. You risked a look over at him and swallowed thickly when you realised what a mistake that was.

His nightclothes, like yours, were made of the same thin fabric, accentuating every muscle, every dip, every inch of him. It was endearing how his hair was at least as mussed as yours, but when you met his eyes, your breath caught in your throat. There was something dangerous about the way he stared at you, the way that dark look made your heart pound, the way his eyes left yours for the briefest of moments to rake over your body…

And then, when you caught his gaze again, you were ready for him to put you out of your misery.

Your voice was breathy and uneven when you responded, "Loki."

You blamed it on your morning run.

“How rare for you to wake before me,” he mused, stepping closer to brush away a stray hair stuck to your dewy forehead, before his hand gently came to rest against the skin there. “Perhaps I was right to worry. You’re burning up.”

Indeed, he was usually the first to rise, and a light sleeper, too. It should have come as no surprise that you’d woken him up with your noisy return. You, as a stark contrast, were normally the last to wake and you slept like the dead. That was no doubt a trait you got from your father.

Your flushed skin heated even further under his cool touch. “I went for a run.”

Loki made a soft sound of disapproval and pulled away. “You’ve been so unwell, and now you’ve gone and pushed yourself too much. I didn’t take you for a fool.”

 _You didn’t take me at all,_ you wanted to say, but you held your tongue. “I’m fine.”

He let out a sigh of frustration and ran a hand through his messy locks. He was so tall compared to you, and so, so close. Your self-restraint was surely being tested, for you wanted nothing more to reach out and pull him to you.

He studied your face for a few quiet, uncomfortable moments before he broke the silence.

“What a terrible secret you must keep, to lie to me so easily.”

When you opened your mouth to object, he cut you off.

“Don’t deny it. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t fret?”

At that, you felt pangs of guilt. You had been lying to him, and to Thor, ever since you came here. Despite how much it hurt you deep down to do it, you couldn’t even imagine how they felt. You'd been miserable, and downright nasty, so much that even Thor had noticed something was wrong.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, looking away, fidgeting with the waistband of your breeches in a feeble attempt to control your wicked impulses. “Please don’t worry about me.”

Loki’s fingers hooked under your chin and then you were forced to look at him again. “Of course I will, you stupid girl. I care about you.”

With just a few simple words, you forgot how to breathe. His eyes were such a lovely, intense green, and you easily lost yourself in them despite the insult he threw your way. As if on instinct, your fingers finally caught in his shirt in a barely noticeable attempt to bring him closer.

“Loki, I…” you started, but your mind drew a blank. You couldn’t think.  

Then his hand left your chin to grasp the side of your flushed face, his thumb against your cheekbone and his other digits behind your ear, almost embedded in your hair. It wasn’t a gentle caress, no, but more of an unspoken demand for your compliance. Leaning into his palm, your gaze dropped to his lips, which looked so soft, so lovely, so ready for you to just stand on your tiptoes and—

And then Thor’s loud yawning broke you out of your spell.

Immediately, Loki’s hand fell to his side. As you released his shirt, your heartbeat pounded fiercely in your ears and the panic began to set in.

What would you have done just now, had you not been interrupted?

Would you have kissed him?

Would he have _let_ you?

You desperately needed to know, but the moment was gone and with it, your sanity.


	5. Five

What the _Hel_ was that?

The way Loki had looked at you wasn’t brotherly at all, and the way he touched you should have been downright criminal.

To be fair, that wasn’t far from the truth – but for now, immoral would have to suffice. And, oh, was it glorious.

In a discreet attempt to discern if Thor had seen the two of you, you walked over to your set of bedding and crouched down to pack up your belongings. There weren’t many, quite unlike the number of racing thoughts running through your head – and those were further amplified when you felt Loki’s eyes on you, watching you, studying you, trying to decipher what, exactly, you were thinking.

You shivered.

Had it just been your imagination? Surely he had just been checking to make sure you were alright. That was all.

Right?

No, he wasn’t, and you knew it. Why else would he be staring now?

The two of you were playing a dangerous game, one you weren’t sure if Loki even knew he was playing. 

The rustling of Thor’s blankets drew you back to the present; he sat up slowly, and yawned again, stretching his arms out above his head. Obviously, he was awake, then, but whether he’d witnessed _whatever that was_ was a different story.

Willing your voice to sound calm and even, you said to him, “Good morning.”

When Thor looked over at you so blearily, you knew he hadn’t seen a thing. He was still half asleep, for Norns’ sake.

“Morning,” he responded, almost automatically. Then, as if he suddenly remembered what was happening today, the dazed expression on his face started to clear away. “Oh! It’s already dawn. You’ll be leaving soon.”

You silently nodded as you started to roll up your blankets and bedding.

Thor gave you a wary look, then, having just now realised that you were already awake and packing. You rarely, if ever, were even _thinking_ about waking up by the time he had already started breaking bread for breakfast. Something was clearly wrong.

“How are you feeling?” he asked you as he stood, stretching his legs in the process.

“Not well, I’m afraid,” you told him, giving your neat, rolled blankets a single pat before you moved on to your trinkets. A small, ornate wooden box held a few memorable knickknacks, which you double checked were still inside. Of course they were. With a derisive laugh, you added, “I did manage a run, so perhaps I’m not entirely useless after all.”

You felt a bit better, now - still worked up, but conversation was always so easy with Thor.

His boisterous laughter warmed your heart, and he came over to ruffle your hair. “I am overjoyed to see that you’re in better spirits today, sister.”

A smile finally broke out upon your lips. You teased, “Only because I’ll finally be without your relentless snoring, of course.”

When he laughed again, you felt a sense of calm wash over you. For the first time in weeks, you almost felt normal. You had always joked around with Thor like this; it was the one constant in your tumultuous life. 

As Thor went to change into his day wear, you wondered where Loki had gone. He had slipped away sometime during your conversation, but you knew he wouldn’t have strayed far.

Slowly, you collected a mess of arrowheads you’d left out as a reminder to finish. Those you placed in a basket, along with a large stack of perfectly carved branches and the small knife with which you whittled them. Your arrows were a necessity in battle, but you only seemed to work on them in the dead of night, when your mind was distracted and you couldn’t sleep. It made perfect sense that you had stockpiled such a huge amount over the past few weeks.

Then you started on breakfast. On a plain, undecorated shelf in the corner sat a box of freshly-baked bread and a glass bowl full of ripened fruit. Next to it were a few small jars of flavoured spreads, both sweet and savoury.

After you lay three place settings, you placed a loaf on each plate and sat the bowl down in the middle of the table. Humming absently to yourself, you took a moment to consider the spreads. You preferred sweet things, so you selected a berry compote to accompany your bread. You knew Thor preferred savoury, and for some odd reason he always used the same spread, a bitter, acidic flavour that you couldn’t stand. You placed both on the table.

Loki, on the other hand, swung both ways. Ever since you were young, you’d made a game of guessing which one he’d be in the mood for. You had learned over the years that his morning temperament was usually the deciding factor: when he was tired or irritable, he liked something sweet, while most other times he went for savoury.

Today you couldn’t even hazard a guess. It was a mystery.

Deciding to play it safe, you chose a tart tomato relish.

He hadn’t yet returned, though, and now that Thor was done changing you decided that you probably should too. Your body had since cooled down, but you had sweat through your clothing and as a result you felt sticky and gross. As soon as you got behind the privacy screen, you stripped down, tossing your soiled clothing into a small pile.

Your mind wandered as you wrapped a clean strip of linen around your breasts. How long would you be gone? It would be weeks, no doubt, especially considering your enemies’ numbers had grown so quickly. And more importantly, when would you get the opportunity to clear the air? You couldn’t leave like this, not knowing. You’d go insane.

A fresh pair of breeches felt lovely on your skin, a stark contrast to the thick, scratchy fabric of your undershirt, meant to serve as a cushion between armour and flesh.

You heard Loki’s voice, then. He was murmuring something quiet to Thor, probably the status of your troops. When you stepped out from behind the screen, you found him sitting at the table, still discussing military matters that you didn’t particularly care about and you realised that he was still in his nightclothes. While you didn’t mind, of course – it was a lovely view – you had to stifle a laugh at the thought of your warriors seeing him in them. He would have used a glamour.

You approached the table and studied his face for a moment longer than you should have. What was he thinking? His behaviour was so normal that it seemed like nothing had happened at all, and you almost believed it. Doubting yourself, you spoke uncertainly, “Welcome back.”

Loki at last turned his stunning green eyes to you, and you half-tripped, half-fell into your chair. His gaze was pure electricity.

“Thank you.” His voice, soft and low, sent a thrill directly to the apex of your thighs.

Your cheeks went rosy and you turned your attention to your meal. With shaky hands, you broke your bread into small pieces before, one at a time, you spooned a bit of the berry spread onto each piece and then took a bite.

The sweetness did nothing to quell the heat in your abdomen.

Thor and Loki continued to discuss something about the outposts, like you hadn’t interrupted at all, but you couldn’t focus. Instead, you squeezed your thighs together, trying and failing to think of anything but what you desperately wanted him to do to you.

When you took another bite, some of the jam spilled onto your finger. Absentmindedly, or perhaps as an unintentional declaration of your intentions, you popped it into your mouth and sucked.

The table shifted, then, as if someone had kicked it. That drew you out of your reverie.

From across the table, Loki shot you a dangerous look, one that you would not soon forget.

In response, you pulled your finger from your mouth with an audible _pop._

Loki visibly tensed. Then he looked away and tore into his loaf of bread, breaking it into small, jagged pieces. He removed the lid from the little jar of tomato relish in front of him, staring at it for a moment, blankly, before he replaced it again and reached across the small table for yours in one single, fluid motion.

He wanted sweet, not savoury.

At that realisation, you flushed.


End file.
